


Who You Gonna Call?

by spnredemption



Series: Redemption Road [22]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-08
Updated: 2012-03-08
Packaged: 2017-11-11 23:59:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spnredemption/pseuds/spnredemption
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"You shattered my Shatner…"</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who You Gonna Call?

**Author's Note:**

> **Masterpost:** **[Supernatural: Redemption Road](http://spn-redemption.livejournal.com/1552.html)** (for full series info, warnings, and disclaimer)  
>  **Author:** [](http://zatnikatel.livejournal.com/profile)[**zatnikatel**](http://zatnikatel.livejournal.com/)  
>  **Characters:** Dean, Castiel, Sam, Ed Zeddmore  
>  **Rating:** PG-13  
>  **Word Count:** ~2,560  
>  **Warnings:** Language, sexuality  
>  **Beta:** [](http://nyoka.livejournal.com/profile)[**nyoka**](http://nyoka.livejournal.com/)  
>  **Note:** Part of our collection of **[DVD extras](http://spn-redemption.livejournal.com/tag/fic%3A%20dvd%20extras)** — outtakes, deleted scenes, missing scenes, and episode tags/codas that take place before, during, or following an aired episode. This coda follows **[Ghosts](http://spn-redemption.livejournal.com/24115.html)**.

  


  


It appears on page six of his google search, and it's with a depressing sense of irony that Sam clicks on the link and peruses the entry. The pictures are blurred and confusing, but vaguely recognizable, and the two men are as pompously inept as they ever were as he watches the video, before clicking on another link that catches his eye.

It's even more ludicrous, and announces it to the room. "Ghost martial arts?"

Dean glances up from his laptop, brows raised hopefully. "Ninja ghosts?"

Sam shakes his head, grins wryly. "Worse than that. Way worse." He turns his own computer around, and his brother peers at the screen for ten blank seconds or so before his eyes flash and he shakes his head.

"Jesus. Those fuckin' idiots. What's the…?"

Dean's fingers fly industriously over his own keyboard, and he variously frowns, jaw-drops and rolls his eyes as he reads what he finds. "Did you read their intro? They say here that no aspect of human civilization won't be impacted to some degree by them. And, _stay razor_?" He fixes Sam with a skeptical glare. "Tell me there's a good reason you're looking at this."

Sam nods. "There is. Check out the latest entry. It has a couple of pictures at one minute sixteen seconds into the video."

Dean taps, scowls, pauses where he needs to. "What am I looking at?"

Sam starts tapping again himself. "According to the voiceover, it's pictures secured from the camera of a kayaker who went missing about a week before we chased up those disappearances in Crystal Beach, and it wasn't too far from there…the Atchafalaya Delta, Louisiana. I'm just…" He chews his lip as he scans his browser. "Local newspaper says he was Edward Robicheaux…they found his kayak abandoned on Alligator Slough, no blood or signs of a struggle."

Dean clucks his tongue. "Alligator Slough. Must be some big ones if they named it after the mothers."

Sam nods. "Yeah," he concedes. "But I don't know, in those pictures it looks like whatever is charging the guy is wearing clothes. And the second one…" He casts his mind back to Crystal Beach, can't suppress a shudder at the memory of Jack Conway's metamorphosis. "There's a glimpse of what could be skin, and it looks scaled. An eye too, right on the side of its face." He studies it again himself, tilts his head to look at it from a fresh angle. "This just went up today, it says they'll be posting more images if they get enough hits. They must have the guy's camera."

Dean huffs out his irritation. "We need the rest of the pictures." He stares at the screen intently for another moment, cocks his head. "There's a _contact us_ option, let's see if…" He types in a few swift lines, hits send. "I told them we have pictures of Bigfoot and gave them our Skype name," he tells Sam, and then he ponders it, shakes his head. "I can't believe Ed and Harry have better contacts than us," he marvels grudgingly. "That really fuckin' grates. I mean, how the hell did they—"

"They seemed well equipped when I encountered them. Albeit not as professional in their approach as I expected."

Sam had forgotten Castiel was in the room, even if there is a sly amusement to be had from watching how Dean exchanges smoldering looks with the angel when he thinks Sam isn't paying attention, how he licks his lips in a subtle way that isn't subtle at all while he's doing it, and how Castiel's eyes go liquid and soulful as he gazes back. He twists his head around and down now, to where their friend is sitting on the floor surrounded by open books and maps. He's staring up at them owlishly, and he shrugs in a careless way that makes Sam think abstractedly that he's getting more and more human with each day that passes.

"You've met the Ghostfacers?" Dean's tone is partly distaste and partly a frantic-sounding amazement, and Sam sees his brother gape even more when Castiel nods.

"They were working from a humble garage in their home town of Appleton, Wisconsin at the time," he offers. "They now reside in the greater Los Angeles area."

The angel seems unconcerned at Dean's response even as Sam sees his brother's face crease into a baffled expression and his mouth goldfish open and shut a few times before he manages to squeeze out words. "But – why would you have—"

He's cut off by a sound, and Sam swivels his eyes back to see an icon blinking at him on the screen of his laptop. "It's them," he says briskly, "I'll pick it up."

A beat later, Ed is staring blearily at him and stifling a yawn. "It's six-fifteen in the morning, douche," he gripes. "This better be real, because if…" He trails off and Sam sees him look up closer. "Sam Winchester?" He slumps back in his chair, scratches at his beard and points towards his own head. "Dude. What's up with the hair?"

Sam ignores his brother's stifled laugh and doesn't bother with any pleasantries. "The new pictures you have on your website, do you have the guy's camera?"

Even though blurry cyberspace, he can see the other man's eyes go furtive as he contemplates the question before he smirks coyly. "This is a Ghostfacers investigation, and we have it under control. We're dispatching a squad to—"

"A squad?" Dean barks. "Fuck." He pushes up violently, rounds the desk and leans down over Sam's shoulder. "Email the pictures, Ed: doctorsexyvanhalen at gmail dot com. Now."

Ed smiles, steeples his fingers under his chin. "No can do, my friend," he drawls. "We have our best field operatives on this, and—"

Sam's turn to cut in, as he feels his brother's rage seethe down his arm, through the hand he has clamped on Sam's shoulder and into Sam's very bones. "Ed, this is bigger than you can handle," he says, as diplomatically as he can manage. "You and Harry could get hurt."

Ed belches loudly at that. "We're professionals at his game, boys," he starts. "We've faced all manner of paranormal, uh, phenomena…non. Nons. Phenomenons. Mena. Phenomena. We have a crack team following up this lead, and we don't need amateur assistance— _no_!"

On the small webcam screen, Ed is choking off a gasp. His eyes are huge with shock, and his hands are coming up in front of him as he shrinks away from whatever he's seeing.

"Ed," Dean snaps urgently right beside Sam's ear, as he cranes to see what the other man is looking at. "Ed, what the hell is going on there?"

A crash resounds through the computer microphone, then a strained silence broken only by the man's whimpering, a steady _JesusfuckingChristJesusfuckingChristJesusfuckingChrist_.

"What the fuck is it?" Dean hisses. "Do you think it could be Meg? She was in Crystal Beach following up leads, do you think—"

"No," a voice says, from the computer screen. It's a smoky growl Sam is only too familiar with and sure enough, he casts his eyes to the right to confirm the rug is empty.

"Not Jesus fucking Christ. _Castiel_. Like the last time. Now where is the camera?"

Ed is still staring up, manages to stutter, "You shattered my Shatner," before he forces his voice back down to a more normal pitch. "I'm not telling you anything."

Castiel leans into the shot, so his face just inches from the other man's. "I can be very persuasive."

His voice is as low as Sam has ever heard it go, a bass rumble that vibrates intensely out of the computer speakers, and he's aware of Dean's fingers gripping him even tighter, can feel his brother's breath puff out faster across his cheek. When he pulls away slightly and peeks, Dean's eyes are glowing avid at the laptop, his cheeks are slightly flushed, and he's licking his lips. It's the _look_ , happening three inches to Sam's right.

His brother must sense his regard because he darts his eyes to meet Sam's, swallows. "Cas'll get it for us, wait and see," he says faintly.

"Did you figure that out with your upstairs brain?" Sam asks dryly.

Dean clears his throat self-consciously, doesn't answer. He straightens up and crosses his arms across his front, and he keeps his eyes fixed to the screen, on Ed's now empty seat. "I guess Cas must be persuading him," he supplies redundantly after a few minutes have passed.

"I guess," Sam confirms.

  


  


Ed is studying him with wide, horrified, eyes and Castiel can see a faint sheen of sweat break out on his brow as he leans down.

After a long moment of silence, during which Castiel looms in what he hopes is a persuasive manner, the man manages to scrape out a question. "What's it worth to you?"

The bravado is unexpected and throws Castiel off-kilter, makes him hesitate before he replies. "I'm not sure I follow you?"

Ed's eyes go slitty and devious. It's a mean look, a look that Castiel has seen on the demon Crowley, the demon Meg, the angel Zachariah, the archangel Raphael, and Bobby Singer. He suddenly and abstractly realizes he never saw Lucifer look quite that calculating, and this gives him sufficient insight into what he is dealing with to brace himself prior to the man's response.

Ed cocks his head and smirks. "What's it worth to you?" he repeats and he shrugs. "You know. I scratch your balls, you scratch mine."

Castiel shoots bolt upright at the thought, feels a queasy churning start up in his near-human gut at the thought of someone who isn't Dean anywhere in the vicinity of that part of his anatomy. "It isn't worth that much," he snaps. He takes a clumsy, defensive step back onto something soft, that yelps. He twists his head around and down, sees a small dog slink away into a corner where it sits and stares at him accusingly.

He looks back to see the man's face crease in bewilderment before a red tinge creeps up above his beard. "Hell, no! That's not what I…ugh." His voice fades into nothing and he makes a similar tongue-jaw motion to the one Castiel has seen Dean refer to as _throwing up in my mouth, dude_ , before clearing his throat enthusiastically. "Make me irresistible to women," he raps out swiftly.

His sense of relief almost has him giddy but Castiel studies the other man for a second, examines his bone structure, his skin texture, the sallowness of his complexion, the scruffy beard growth and bloodshot eyes. He can't hold back his rueful sigh. "Some things are beyond even me."

The man is oblivious for a moment before his face goes crestfallen. "Dude. Not cool. And not the kind of attitude that'll get you what you want."

Endeavoring to make his tone sound as humble as he can, Castiel deflects and even throws in an excuse. "My apologies. My powers have dwindled substantially."

Ed scowls. "So if I'd asked you the last time you stopped by, you could have done it? Dammit." He folds his arms over his chest, and stares disconsolately up. "Stupid. Dammit. That was stupid of me."

Castiel is especially diplomatic, but he's truthful, because Dean has drummed what he calls _truthiness_ into him since the souls. "Actually it was beyond me then too," he clarifies, holding out a placatory hand. "Because as I said…some things are beyond even me."

Ed's face goes even more sour for a moment before they're both distracted by a scratching noise. Castiel swivels his head around again to see that the dog has made its way over to the door and is pointing mournful eyes at them, whining softly.

"Well that's a start," Ed announces, and Castiel glances back to see him reaching for a tennis ball on his desk. He offers it over. "Dog needs walking. Don't let it crap in our yard, take it next door. Then five minutes with the tennis ball."

Castiel slumps inwardly even as he tells himself this is for the good of Team Free Will. "And then you'll give me the camera?"

Ed's eyes narrow again, and he looks down and around. Castiel follows his gaze. The room is in chaos, tumbled piles of books and papers, DVD cases, cardboard boxes, fast food containers, coffee cups, and piles of what appears to be dirty laundry.

"You live in squalor," Castiel remarks offhandedly, and even as he says the words, he gets a sense of foreboding.

"It's the maid's year off," Ed retorts. "Makes me even happier you stopped by." He swivels around in his chair, snatches at a piece of paper, searches under a mess of newspaper cuttings until he finds a pencil and then writes industriously for a few minutes. Once done, he hands Castiel the paper with a flourish. "To-do list. Specifically, _your_ to-do list."

Castiel takes the paper uncertainly, scans his way down the bullet points. "I'm not robbing the local bank for you," he decides firmly. "Nor am I teleporting David Hasselhoff here for you, whoever he is. Those are non-negotiable. The rest is manageable." He frowns. "But what exactly is Starfleet?"

  


  


Dean is flopping in his chair and pulling absently at his lower lip when Castiel reappears, in a beat of wings and a flurry of paper.

The angel stumbles a little, has to put a hand out to regain his balance. "I may have overreached myself," he observes flatly.

Sam shakes a rueful head as Castiel backs away and sprawls tiredly on the couch. His brother is already pushing up, taking the few steps he needs to until he's kneeling in front of their friend and unlacing his boots, glancing up and muttering admonishments.

Once done, Dean lays his hands on Castiel's thighs for too long, and shakes his head slowly as he looks up. His words are pitched low and confidential, so Sam can't hear them, but it's clear the chastisement is mixed with concern and gruff endearments. Castiel reaches his own hand out to touch Dean's cheek, and Sam suddenly feels like he's intruding, but then Castiel smiles weakly, nods and leans back, the private moment over.

Dean heaves the angel's socked feet up onto the overstuffed leather before he stands and plucks the camera from Castiel's hand. "Canon," he declares as he turns back to Sam. "Nice one too. Hope Bobby has a USB cable that'll fit."

Sam is just reaching out for it when Castiel speaks up wearily from behind his brother. "Ed also emailed the pictures to the email address you gave him. They should be there now."

Sam nods, "Cool." And there it is, the chime of incoming mail from his laptop. "Looks like they're here."

Dean spares another look back to where Castiel's eyelids are closing as he crosses to stand behind Sam again. "I trust you un-shattered his Shatner?"

Castiel flaps a hand, doesn't open his eyes. "His Shatner is made whole."

Sam clucks his tongue as the pictures open up, points. "See that one, it looks like…" He stops, looks closer. He can already hear Dean's breathed out, _what the fuck…_ from behind him.

"Cas, what the fuck were you doing wearing a Starfleet uniform? With the wings out?"

  



End file.
